Thursday, April 23, 2015

Undocumented Zombies

The nice thing about being dead
is you no longer care if the doctor 
mucked up your diagnosis and the  

pharmacist gave you the wrong pills.
You're cozy now in a comfy casket 
six feet below all the carnage  

in the world, without a worry, when 
a mastodon tsunami rolls over your 
peaceful cemetery and uproots 

thousands of caskets, tossing them 
high in the sky and forcing you 
and all the other zombies to float

You discover no port will take
undocumented zombies.
You have no papers, after all; 

you can't prove who you were or are
so you and the other zombies float 
for God knows how long since

God may not believe in zombies.
This is a rupture not a rapture.
And while you float, your lawyer

meets with your relatives who  
no longer weep about your passing.
They smile as he reads your will.

They plan on taking a family cruise 
with the proceeds from your estate. 
They'll dine on lobster and steak,

lay waste continuous buffets while
you and the other zombies float 
further out, unable to find a port 

where citizens will bury the likes of you.
Property values will drop, they shout.
They can't drop their signs and let you in. 

Donal Mahoney

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...